


From Cutpurse to Warden-Recruit

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [17]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Death, Gen, Grey Warden Joining, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Ostagar (Dragon Age), POV Daveth, Recruitment, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Prompt 6: Before and After Take any NPC or temporary companion from the Origins-Awakening, and write out a few quiet small moments in the ‘Before’ of their life, and then a few moments in the ‘After’ of the events in the origins they are set in.A look at Daveth's life just before he was recruited into the Grey Wardens, followed by the aftermath.
Series: Reddit Prompts 2: Because the old one is quite full [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918846
Kudos: 2





	From Cutpurse to Warden-Recruit

The sunlight crept in from the small gap in the shutters covering the sole window in his lair and poked him in the eyes with all the perseverance of a small child intent on curing their boredom by bothering an older sibling. Daveth swore to himself and swung his legs over the edge of his cot as he sat up. He sat blinking for a few heartbeats while his mind shook off the last few cobwebs of sleep.

He scanned the four walls that he’d claimed as his own, at least for the moment. It wasn’t… horrible, as far as attics in neglected warehouses went. The walls were bare, save for what few things he brought in over time. He’d put in a handful of pegs in the opposite wall to hang his things. The floor was a dusty brown wood that had seen better days. And better decades, no doubt. He suspected that they were older than he was. There were a pair of holes in the far corner, big enough for him to shimmy into and out of this place. It was always handy to have a safe spot when between more comfortable arrangements.

He had a luxurious stretch and gave a mighty yawn before rising up from the cot. He shuffled toward his clothes hanging from a peg in the wall and began dressing. He ran a hand through the scruffy fuzz on his cheeks and chin and shrugged. There was nothing for it, what with no mirror or soap to be had. Not that he had anyone to impress. He just didn’t want a younger reflection of his father staring back at him when he passed mirrors. He ran away from the man nearly seven years ago, eager to be anywhere he wasn’t. Of course, being all of nearly 15 at the time and not apprenticed in a trade, Daveth had resorted to pilfering to keep himself fed as he traveled. If there was one thing Fereldan villagers hated – more than anything Orlesian, at least – it was a thief. Or rather, one bad enough to get caught. That resulted in two things: developing his skills and always moving along, preferably in the direction of places that had more purses to raid. Eventually, that led him to Denerim. Far easier to blend into a crowd in a busy city, after all.

Once he was finished dressing, he slid a pair of stout boots onto his feet. Oh, how the cobbler had swore when he discovered them missing! The thief chuckled to himself and began stowing away knives into hidden sheathes – it never hurt to be prepared – and shrugged on some leather gear that’d seen better days with a different owner. Dressed and armed, he shimmied out of the larger of the holes in the floor and carefully climbed down the stack of crates he’d erected. Now, it was time to see what could be found in the way of breakfast and coin.

A couple of hours later found him people-watching in the market district while munching on some stolen fruit and cured meat. Earlier, he’d been keeping an eye on the butcher’s stall. When the proprietor had his back turned, he’d sliced off a couple of sausage links from one of the chains dangling from the display. To cover his tracks, he’d tossed a few bits of the meat toward one of the street dogs. The dog, being glad from the unexpected treat, went up to the stall to beg the butcher for more. He heard the stomping of armor-clad boots before he saw them: the city guard. He took that as his cue to leave for a different part of the city for a while. He ducked through several back alleys, each slightly less filthy than the last. When he popped back into a proper district, he immediately noticed the paved streets and decidedly not-shabby buildings. _This must be one of the spots where the nobles and well-to-do set up shop._

He hid his smile behind the apple core in his hand. A crowd of people was gathered, listening as some fool in fancy clothing read from a scroll from atop a platform that was perhaps 2 or 3 feet off the ground. _The fattest purses wouldn’t miss a few coins each, right?_ It wasn’t like the rich would _suffer_ for want of a sovereign or two, unlike the folk in the slums. He chucked the apple core and discreetly drew closer to the crowd. His eyes landed on an excellent mark. The man had dark skin the same color as mahogany and was wearing fancy armor, looking nothing like the stuff the smiths or leatherworkers in the city made. His dark hair was kissed with silver at the temples and pulled back into a tail, while a full but not unkempt beard adorned his cheeks and jaw. _Where_ _i_ _s it? Ah, there we go._ Daveth very carefully unsheathed his smallest knife and cut the strings to the purse that hung at his target’s hip.

_Too easy,_ he smiled to himself as he began pulling his hand away. In less time than it took for an eye to blink, the stranger’s hand captured his and held it firmly. _Bollocks! Time to go,_ the thief swore to himself. He squirmed free and bolted for the nearest gap that would take him to an alley. He prided himself on being quick on his feet. To his utter horror, his would-be victim easily kept up with him. Daveth scowled and hopped over some crates and zig-zagged until he found himself in the bazaar that catered to the city’s richer residents. A look over his shoulder told him what he’d suspected: the man was still trailing on him, getting far too close for comfort.

“Stop! Thief!” his victim shouted. A pair of guards perked up, noticing the disturbance. They began trotting over.

_Sod it. Sod it all to the void!_ Daveth kicked over a display of round orange exotic fruits and then toppled over a stack of cages containing fancy-looking roosters. The birds were set free and flapped and crowed, causing the woman selling them to shriek in dismay while trying to round up her fleeing merchandise. He kicked into as fast of a run as he could manage. He almost thought he was home free as he approached an archway in the stone wall that would take him from the district and into the roads that connected the city’s disparate neighborhoods to one another. And then four more of the city guard surrounded him after he crossed that archway. He swallowed hard. A mad dash to his right could take him to the Alienage, assuming he could outrun the guards. Or he could take his chances and go to his left and dive into the Drakon river. He was about to run for the river when a blow to the back of his head made everything go black.

***

When he next opened his eyes, sturdy iron bars greeted him. He groaned and pushed himself up from the dirt-packed floor and sat up. He rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head. _I shouldn’t have gotten so greedy, I guess,_ he thought. He cursed himself for not sticking to the lower-class areas to line his purse. A pair of metal-clad feet came into his field of vision. He looked up and beheld the face of one of the city guards scowling at him.

“Thought you could get away with that, did you? We know who you are, ya good for nothing. You know what we do to repeat offenders in the king’s city: we string ‘em up! As soon as one of the Sisters gets here to pray for your rotten soul, we’ll be marching your worthless hide to the gallows.”

Daveth squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He knew people who led the sort of lives that he did often came to bad ends, but this hadn’t been the way he wanted to go. Not by a long shot.

“Ser!,” a different guard called out. “Sister Marfra is waiting outside at the gallows.”

“What? Is that old biddy serious about carrying on outside in front of people? Can’t she do her thing here? Bad enough that the Grand Cleric won’t let us execute any prisoners without a ‘proper’ set of final rites being done for them!” the first guard snarled.

“I told her to come here, but she refused to budge, ser. She started singing part of the Chant, instead,” the second one replied.

The first guard rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Andraste’s burning knickers. FINE. We’ll do it the old bat’s way.” He turned to Daveth. “Get up on your feet, you. Can’t keep the good Sister waiting. Unlike you, she has more important things to be doing.”

He’d barely gotten to his feet when the guard yanked both his hands behind his back and tied them. The pair of guards escorted him out of the dungeon and then out into the light of day. A wooden gallows stood waiting in the center of the district’s square, complete with a hangman’s noose waiting for a neck to slide into it. An elderly woman with a massive snowy white bun on the top of her head was wearing the red and white robes of a chantry Sister. She stood at one of the sets of steps leading up to the noose, busy singing a part of the Chant of Light.A small but growing crowd was gathering around it. For some reason, people always came out to watch criminals dangle from the noose. He’d always considered it a rather ghoulish form of entertainment; one he didn’t enjoy witnessing, truth be told. _And now, you’re the star of today’s show,_ he thought grimly.

“All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker,” the Sister sang as the guards brought their condemned prisoner forth. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed like the old Sister was scowling at the guards and not him. He was marched up the steps and shoved before the noose.

“Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye!” a crier called out from in front of the gallows. “This man has been found guilty of repeated theft inside the city. The punishment for his crimes shall be to hang by the neck until dead!” Sister Marfra approached Daveth, a small container of ashes in one hand and a sorrowful look on her face. She dipped her finger into the pot of ash and drew a circle on his forehead with it before reciting a prayer for the condemned. Apparently, she’d chosen the long form of the prayer, as the guards on either side of him rolled their eyes in exasperation.

As the Sister’s prayer drew to a close, the first guard spoke up. “Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?”

“STOP! STOP THIS AT ONCE!” a man’s voice bellowed.

The crowd gasped and searched for the voice’s owner. Daveth’s eyes went wide when he found its source: the man whose purse he’d cut earlier!

“We can’t do that, ser.” The second guard replied, watching as the dark-haired man climbed the steps to the gallows. “The law’s the law. Best that you move along, now.”

“Oh, but you can and you will,” the stranger replied. “I am invoking the Right of Conscription on this man.”

“The WHAT?! Don’t be absurd! Only a Grey Warden can do that!” the first guard shot back.

The bearded man locked eyes with Daveth and smiled. “Then it is lucky for us both that I am a Grey Warden. I will take this man under my wing and take responsibility for his actions. Now release him into my custody.” The Warden gave a meaningful look at the guards that seemed to promise a bad time to be had if they didn’t comply.

The crowd jeered as the rope binding the thief’s hands was cut, upset by the fact that their free show was denied them. Daveth didn’t need more than a handful of heartbeats to realize his change in fortune and eagerly followed the Grey Warden out of the square after turning to offer his would-be executioners a pair of raised middle fingers.

***

Ostagar. Maker’s dimpled butt cheeks, this wasn’t too far from the village he’d grown up in. Not to mention the wilds. He shivered, remembering tales about witches and cannibals he’d heard.

“I expect you to behave yourself here in camp while I’m off fetching another recruit,” Duncan, the Warden who had conscripted him said, pulling him from his thoughts. “That means don’t get caught,” the older man said with a wink.

Daveth chuckled. “I’ll try my best. Whereabouts are you going, ser?”

“North. I’ve heard good things about one of Teryn Cousland’s men. There’s also the Circle of Magi to visit. We need all the talent we can find.”

He watched as the Warden took his bedroll and fastened it to his pack. Circle of Magi? He was going to go poking about the home of ‘proper’ mages? Were Circle mages any different from apostates and witches? He’d never met a ‘proper’ mage before. “Stay safe, yeah?”

Duncan smiled and nodded. “I shall try.”

***

It was a couple of weeks before he heard from Duncan again. He’d heard the buzz of gossip from the other Grey Wardens floating around camp. The Commander had made it back to camp in the company of a rather delicate-looking young lady. The other Wardens had sniffed disdainfully and voiced their doubts about her chances of surviving the ‘Joining’ ritual. He wasn’t sure what that entailed, as the others refused to breathe a single word of detail. Not even the junior Warden, Alistair, who was normally prone to humor and good manners, would say a word about it. The secrecy nagged at Daveth like an itch on his nose that he couldn’t scratch.

He’d been bored and resorted to flirting with one of the lady knights for amusement. He knew he was doing a rotten job of it but hardly cared. Being glared at beat standing around doing a whole lot of nothing or shooting endless arrows into practice targets. The Wardens wouldn’t even let him join scouting parties heading out of camp. They’d insisted on him staying in one place until Duncan returned.

“Shall I take that quiet glare as a no? Ah, well. Too bad,” he said as the knight grew tired of his insincere advances and stormed off. A different woman approaching caught his eye. She looked delicate, and her stature would’ve made him mistake her for an elf if her head had been covered, but her facial features were decidedly human. Her long dark hair was woven into a braid that didn’t quite reach her waist. She was clad in green and dull gold robes that had travel dirt on them. What stood out most was how disturbingly pale her skin was. It was her eyes that gave her away: silver. The tales he grew up on said that eyes of gold or silver heralded a witch.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. “Well, you’re not what I thought you’d be.”

She arched an ebony brow. “And what did you think I’d be? A cave bear?”

“Not a woman. Yet here you are.” If he guessed rightly, this one was from that Circle place Duncan mentioned. “The name’s Daveth. It’s about bloody time you came along. I was beginning to think they cooked this ritual up just for our benefit.”

She tilted her head. “Isn’t that a little paranoid? You can call me Sevarra, by the way.”

_That’s a weird name._ _Not from around here, I bet._ “Ha! That depends on what kind of life you’ve led. Me, I’m perfectly willing to accept that this Joining is some kind of punishment.”

Her expression said it all. That clearly wasn’t a pleasant thought for her to entertain.

“I happened to be sneaking around camp last night, see, and I heard a couple of Grey Wardens talking. So I listen in for a bit. I’m thinking they plan to send us into the Wilds,” he said.

“The Wilds?” she looked confused.

_Definitely not from around here._ “We’re right on the edge of the Korcari Wilds here. Miles upon miles of savage country. My home village isn’t far from here, and I grew up on tales about the Wilds. Even been in ‘em a few times. Scary place.”

“Why are they so frightening? They just look like a bunch of trees. In cold marshland, but still, just… bunches of trees.”

“Apart from the cannibals, beasts, witches, and now darkspawn? What _isn’t_ there to be scared of in there?” he replied.

“I… see.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Like we have a choice.”

“You’re forced to be here?” she asked quietly.

“After what Duncan saved me from, I don’t exactly have anywhere else to be,” he answered.

“You too, huh?” she said.

_Oh ho ho ho! I need to hear that story some time,_ he thought.

***

The mage looked _entirely_ too pleased with herself as the darkspawn fell into literal frozen pieces on the cold marshy ground. Ser Jory quickly moved away from the deceased monster, seemingly more shaken by magic in close proximity than the very real threat of darkspawn around him. “That’s two for me. What are you up to now?” Sevarra asked.

He loosed another arrow. The projectile found a new home right in the middle of a short dwarf-like darkspawn’s forehead. “Two. Let’s see how long that flashy magic of yours will hold out, huh? An arrow between the eyes makes ‘em every bit as dead. Less messy, too. Good luck getting any blood out of that one you just shattered.”

The mage swore under her breath. He smirked and lined up another shot. He loosed and a man-sized darkspawn fell to the ground, an arrow jutting out of its neck. A handful of yards ahead of his latest victim, Alistair and Jory were busy hacking at two more monsters. A purple bolt of energy flew from Sevarra’s hands, finding its way to the monster Jory was battling. The knight swore and backed up a pair of steps.

“You like scaring him, don’t you?” Daveth asked.

“Lies and slander! Not my fault if he’s skittish. We’re on the same team! You’d think he’d have a little faith in me to not blast him. I’m not some bloodthirsty savage. Even the worst templar would put him to shame.” Another blast of energy flew out of her hands. Another distant yelp came in reply. “Maker’s breath, I’m not aiming at YOU!” she called out.

***

They were back in Ostagar proper, in the old broken down temple. The time had come to finally do this Joining ritual he’d heard whispers about.

“Daveth, step forward,” Duncan said somberly. The Warden gently pressed the chalice filled with darkspawn blood and Maker only knew what else into the recruit’s hands.

Daveth looked to the side and offered a reassuring look toward the other two recruits who seemed frozen in place as they watched him. He hoped that she would survive this ritual. This Wardening thing wouldn’t be so bad with a friend around. He raised the chalice to his lips and took a sip. He passed the cup back to Duncan, who kept a close eye on him.

He didn’t get more than a handful of breaths before he felt it taking effect. Pain. Burning pain ran down his throat to the rest of his body. He cried out as his vision went white. A moment later, he saw a massive decaying dragon roaring as it locked eyes with him. He felt uncomfortably _seen._ Seen by something that could just as easily snuff his life out by stepping on him. Something that oozed malevolence from its very being. He didn’t feel his knees hitting the cold stone of the temple. But he heard a faint cry of a woman’s voice. As his vision faded to black, he could almost swear he felt soft gentle hands on his cheeks.

***

She sat by the pyres, watching as the flames died down to the last few flickers before they faded away into nothing and left only cooling ashes and bone. She was too exhausted to sob, much less do anything about the wet trails her tears had left on her cheeks. Truth be told, she also felt horribly numb.

Sevarra wanted to scream, to cry, to rage, to do anything. But everything seemed so pointless and small right at that particular moment. Two men had lost their lives, two men who had deserved to live. But two lives were nearly nothing in comparison to an entire kingdom’s worth of lives being swallowed up and snuffed out by darkspawn. That vision she had during the ritual, she knew it was real. She knew that the monster it showed her was bent on destroying any life that crossed its path.

One of the Wardens – a fellow Warden, she corrected herself – sat beside her on the bench and squeezed her shoulder.

“Nothing I could say would do what you’ve been through justice. But I do know what it’s like,” the scarred elf with a ginger-and-salt mane said softly. “That included,” he nodded toward the now-extinguished funeral pyres. “I was the only one to leave my Joining still breathing.”


End file.
